He dug into his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”
“You have already paid for your room,” spoke up Charoon Bok. “Has he not, Simon?”
“Indeed,” said the hotelier, nodding his head. “Indeed, he has. Here is the key. The honeymoon suite is up the stairs. The last door on the right.”
“We haven’t eaten. Is there someplace we can get a little dinner?”
“My wife and daughters are preparing the evening meal now. You may eat right here in the hotel. Lola will sing for you.”
The soprano smiled at Ross from across the small, threadbare lobby.
“You are most gracious, Simon Ha. Thank you, Sergeant.” He bowed politely to the two men and headed back to Diana. Damn, if he didn’t have some explaining to do.
Diana had just collected her luggage from Pablo. All four suitcases were neatly stacked on the verandah outside the Hotel Paraiso. She opened her handbag, gave the boy a fistful of coins and said, “Salamat.”
He grabbed the money and dashed for his cart and oxen before the pretty lady changed her mind.
Ross stepped out into the twilight. “You won’t solve the world’s problems that way.”
He watched as her back stiffened; she didn’t turn around. “Perhaps not.”
“You gave him too much.”
“I don’t care,” she said in a softly defiant tone.
“The news will spread like wildfire. Tomorrow there will be a dozen children following you wherever you go.”
She stared straight ahead. “I won’t mind. I like children.”
He looked at her askance.
She turned. “Don’t look so surprised, Ross. Didn’t you think I would?”
“Frankly, no,” he said bluntly.
“Well, it all goes to show how wrong even you can be. I happen to like children very much.”
Ross had more important things on his mind, like saving his neck. He took off his khaki hat, punched at the shapeless crown with his fist and jammed it back on his head. “Look, Diana, there has been a glitch in our plans.”
“A glitch?”
He cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Grimmer isn’t here.”
She went very still. There was an unnatural calmness to her voice when she said, “Yale isn’t here? I don’t understand.”
“He arrived yesterday, registered at the hotel and went out to rent a boat from a fisherman. No one has seen him since.”
“But I talked to him last night.”
“Did he mention where he was calling from?”
“No. We didn’t have a good connection, as you know. It was difficult to hear him.”
“Did you notice any background noise?”
“You mean other than static? No, I didn’t.” Her hand went to her mouth; Ross noticed it was shaking. “Do they suspect foul play?”
“Foul play?”
“Has Yale been declared a missing person?”
“Hell, I don’t know. All I do know is we’re not the only ones looking for him.”
A frown creased her brow. “Not the only ones?”
“The owner of the hotel told me there were two men here earlier today asking for your boyfriend.”
“Could they be the two men you overheard talking on the beach?” she said after a moment.
“Not from the description I was given.” He thought for a second. “But it does match up with a couple of guards I saw with them.”
Diana shivered and wrapped her arms around herself despite the warm tropical night. “Something’s wrong, Ross. I can feel it.”
“A woman’s intuition?” he said sardonically. But he had to agree with her. There was something real fishy about this whole damn business.
“What do we do now?”
He broke it down into manageable parts. “Have some dinner. Try to get some sleep. Hope Grimmer turns up by morning.”
She glanced at the dingy hotel behind him. “I assume these are the only accommodations in town.”
“You assume correctly.” Then he added, “By the way, the chief of police was asking about you.”
“The chief of police?” she said nervously, fidgeting with the strap of her handbag.
“He was the man in the faded uniform who walked by you a few minutes ago.”
“What did you tell him about me?”
“I didn’t tell him you were engaged to Grimmer.”
She looked up into his eyes. “Why not?”
Ross took off his hat again and drove a hand through his damp hair. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”
“Try.”
“Gut instinct.”
“Gut instinct?” Diana raised an elegant eyebrow. “Is that anything like a woman’s intuition?”
Touché.
He apprised her of the situation. “I didn’t want those two big goons coming back and finding out that Grimmer’s fiancée was staying here at the hotel.”
For once she didn’t argue with him. “Can we get rooms for the night?”
“No.”
“No? I thought you just said—”
“Not rooms. One room.”
“One room?” Her voice rose a quarter of an octave. “Is that all they have available?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Why not?”
“I told Simon Ha and Sergeant Bok that we only needed one room.”
“Why would you tell them that?”
Ross held up his hands in front of him. “Now, Diana, I want you to promise me that you won’t raise a fuss until we’ve had our dinner and retire to our room for the night.”
“Our room?”
“The honeymoon suite.”
A faint color rose in her cheeks. “My God, Ross, what have you done?”
“Sergeant Bok asked if you were my sister.”
“I hope you informed him to the contrary.”
“I did.” He took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. “I told him you were my wife.”
Seven
“Your wife!” It was two hours later and Diana still wanted to strangle him.
“Look. I’m sorry. It was the best I could do under the circumstances,” Ross said, closing the door of the honeymoon suite behind them.
“Why couldn’t you simply tell these people the truth?”
He threw his hat down on the bedside table. “I’m not sure I know what the truth is anymore.”
Diana paced back and forth in front of him like a caged lioness. “Well, I do. So let me spell it out for you. My name is Diana Winsted. Yours is Ross St. Clair. I am engaged to be married to a businessman named Yale Grimmer.” She turned the ring around on her finger and massaged the spot where the diamond had been digging into her palm all day. “I have just flown halfway around the world to join my fiancé. He called last night and asked me to meet him on Port Manya. This morning I caught the first flight out here from Manila. You came along for the ride. Those are the facts. That is the truth.”
She was mad. Madder than hell. She had just spent the most uncomfortable evening of her life pretending to be married to Ross St. Clair.
Saint Clair, indeed, according the villagers in this godforsaken backwater town. Ross could do no wrong in their eyes. And all because he’d dug a lousy well for someone’s uncle?
“I know the people in this part of the world, Diana. You don’t. Theirs is a conservative and deeply religious society. A single woman, even if she is engaged to be married, doesn’t travel alone. She is always chaperoned. Whether you like it or not, you need my protection.”
“This isn’t the Middle Ages,” she snapped.
“It may as well be out here. Society’s rules haven’t changed that much in these isolated cultures. A woman on her own can only be one thing.”
She stopped pacing and quirked a perfectly arched brow in his direction. “What, pray tell, is that?”
Ross gave her a long, hard look. “To put it in euphemistic terms, a ‘lady of the evening.’ ”
Her mouth dropped open. �
��You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“That is the most idiotic, narrow-minded, chauvinistic, outdated—”
Cutting her off, Ross said, “Rant and rave all you want, Diana. That’s the way it is. Trust me, pretending we’re married will save us both a lot of trouble as long as we’re on this island.”
She threw up her hands in frustration and sank down on the edge of the mattress. “How am I supposed to explain to my fiancé that I’m ‘married’ to another man?”
“If you ask me, your fiancé is the one who should be doing the explaining,” Ross said, his voice and manner dry.
He was right, of course. But Diana wasn’t about to admit it to him.
She wet her lips with her tongue and drew in a deep breath. “I’m dirty and I’m tired. All I want to do is take a shower and crawl into bed.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said, plunking himself down on a rattan chair that had seen better days. He untied his boots, eased them off his feet and tossed them into the nearest corner. Then he stood and unbuckled his belt.
Diana sprang up. “Just what in the name of heaven do you think you’re doing now?”
His head raised. “Undressing?”
“Why?”
“Because I prefer not to sleep in my clothes.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“I’m your husband, remember? Where do you suggest I go?”
Diana pointed to the door. “Out.”
“Out where?” Ross said between his teeth.
He had her. She could hardly order him out of their hotel room when there was no place else to go. “You really are a b—”
“Such language, Ms. Winsted.”
“—buckaroo!” she finished.
“We’re two mature adults,” said Ross in what he no doubt considered a reasonable tone of voice. “I’m sure we can find a way to peacefully coexist for one night.”
Diana sniffed. “I’m sure we can, too. If you keep your pants on.”
His mouth curved sardonically. “Do you mind if I take them off to shower?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Do you want to bathe first, or shall I?” he inquired with excruciating politeness.
“You go first. I have some unpacking to do,” she informed him, digging around in her handbag for the keys to her luggage.
“Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone,” Ross instructed as he grabbed a towel and headed down the hall to the communal bathroom.
“Not for anyone?” she called after him.
“Not for anyone but me, sweetheart,” came back to her in gritty masculine tones.
Diana was ready for him when Ross returned fifteen minutes later. Her clothes were unpacked and neatly hung in the old-fashioned wardrobe. She’d peeled down to her bra and panties, and slipped into a wrapper that modestly covered her from neck to ankle. She had her nightgown over her arm, shampoo and conditioner grasped in her right hand, toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in her left. She was ready to do battle.
“Don’t forget your towel,” he remarked, draping it over her other arm.
“Thanks. Is there anything I should know about operating the shower?”
“Nope. It’s your standard cold-and-cold running water.”
Her heart sank. “No hot water?”
Ross slanted her a glance. “This isn’t exactly the Hilton, Diana.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she shot back.
“Wait a minute.” He dug around in his knapsack and came up with a plastic bottle of Evian. “You’d better brush your teeth with this.”
“Bottled water?”
“I’ve had all of my shots. But it wouldn’t hurt for you to take a few extra precautions.”
She shuffled her toilet articles around and accepted the peace offering. “Salamat.”
“Walang anoman.”
As she traipsed down the hallway toward the “conveniences,” Diana couldn’t resist tossing over her shoulder, “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone.”
Ross smirked. “Not for anyone?”
“Not for anyone but me, sweetheart,” she trailed behind her.
Actually the shower turned out to have cold-and-cold “dripping” water, but at least when she was done Diana felt reasonably clean. She even managed to rinse most of the shampoo out of her hair.
Then she stood for a moment in front of the bathroom mirror and studied her reflection.
“Watch your step, Diana Winsted,” she whispered to the vulnerable blonde in the cracked glass. “He’s the wrong man for you, and you know it.” Then she took a comb to her wet hair and ruthlessly worked through the tangles, the gold charm bracelet on her wrist tinkling with each movement.
When she returned, the door of the honeymoon suite was unlocked. She let herself in. Ross was stretched out on top of the covers on one side of the double bed, a pillow propped up at his back, arms folded behind his head. He was wearing a pair of clean khaki slacks and nothing else.
“I didn’t know which side you usually slept on,” he said with ominous calm.
Her gaze faltered. “It—it doesn’t matter.”
He frowned. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down before.”
Diana self-consciously raised a hand to her wet head. “I, ah, washed it.”
“I can see that.” He added after a moment, “I like it down.”
“Thank you.”
“You aren’t wearing any makeup.”
She quickly stowed her toilet articles in her carryon bag. “No.”
“You look younger. And prettier.”
She swallowed hard and tried to think of something appropriate to say to him in return. She didn’t think you look even more dangerous without your clothes was it.
Ross sat up and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. “You hop in. I’ll unravel the mosquito netting and turn off the lights.”
“Do you think the netting is really necessary?” she inquired, slipping between the sheets.
“You wouldn’t ask that question if you’d ever slept out here in the tropics. I swear some nights you think the mosquitoes are the size of hornets. Bloodthirsty devils, too.”
Diana decided to take his word for it.
Ross lowered the mosquito netting around the bed and flicked off the light switch. The room was plunged into darkness. Diana felt the mattress give way beside her as he stretched out again.
They were suddenly cocooned in a world of their own. The night mounted around them.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
“Diana, are you awake?”
She sighed and answered him. “Yes.”
“Are you in love with Yale Grimmer?”
“Ross, please—”
“All it takes is a simple yes or no.”
She stared up through the mosquito netting at the ceiling. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why isn’t it?”
She had no intentions of discussing her relationship with Yale, not with Ross St. Clair, not with anyone. She said carefully, “My fiancé and I both know what we want from marriage. We understand each other. We’re two of a kind.”
“I don’t believe that,” the man lying beside her said almost savagely.
“It’s true.”
“You make it sound more like a business merger than a love match. Whatever happened to grand passion between a man and a woman?”
After a long pause, Diana answered with some difficulty, “Perhaps grand passion is overrated.”
“I would have agreed with you once. I used to think that what I needed in a wife was the perfect hostess.” Ross made a self-deprecating sound. “Now I know better.”
Silence filled the room again.
The moon slipped out from behind a bank of clouds, sending a sliver of pale light into the darkness.
Diana watched out of the corner of one eye as Ross turned his head on the pillow and stared at
her searchingly. “Don’t marry Grimmer, Diana. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“I won’t have any regrets.”
His voice was sharp with tension. “You think you can live without passion?”
“I know I can.”
He rolled over onto his side and faced her in the moonlight. “Lady, you’re either a liar or a fool.”
Suddenly hot tears burned the back of her eyes. His words hurt more than he would ever know.
Diana swallowed and spoke hoarsely. “Passion simply isn’t important to me.”
“I think it is.” Ross moved closer. She could feel his warm breath on her face. “I dare you to kiss me and prove me wrong.”
She turned and brushed her cool lips across his cheek. “There.”
“Afraid, Diana?”
“Afraid?”
“That wasn’t much of a kiss. Are you afraid to find out the truth?”
She accepted his dare. “No.”
This time she went up on one elbow and bent over him. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. Her hand brushed against his bare chest, his skin was hot to the touch.
She inhaled deeply. His scent filled her nostrils; it was clean and masculine. He smelled of soap and damp hair and the exotic night.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
He disagreed with her. “Trust me, it’s a very good idea, sweetheart.”
Diana gave herself a quick pep talk. Whatever had happened between Ross and herself on the plane this morning was the result of an overactive imagination, or an acute case of jet lag. Nothing more.
She was about to prove him wrong. Dead wrong. She was simply not interested in, or capable of, grand passion. That’s all there was to it.
Diana touched her lips to his and, once again, she burst into flames.
While her first mistake had been kissing him on the airplane that morning, accepting Ross’s dare and kissing him in the intimacy of a moonlit bedroom was an even bigger mistake.
Diana realized in an instant that she was in over her head. She was no longer in control of the situation. The still-functioning part of her brain wondered how that could be, she had never once lost control with Yale.
What was it about Ross St. Clair?
Was it the excitement of the unknown? The seductive allure of the forbidden? The thrill of the dangerous? Did she foster some secret desire to be seduced by an untamed, uncivilized male? A soldier of fortune? A cowboy? A man who lived by his brawn instead of his brain?
Not His Wedding! (Silhouette Reissued) Page 6